


Holiday Specials Across the Multiverse

by jennfics



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/pseuds/jennfics
Summary: In the style of 5:1; five times olicity could have met during the holidays, and the one they finally get to celebrate. Loosely based on every cheesy holiday movie in existence.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almondblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almondblossom/gifts).



> Special thanks to my awesome ladies over on tumblr: mcgeekle, sugarymaps, and sharilynn87 for allowing me to toss ideas in their faces at midnight and for edits and insights and just being the all around best of the best. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! and a very Happy New Year! (be gone, 2016!)

i.

If there is one thing Felicity Smoak prides herself on, it’s her follow-through. Well, that and her hacking ability. She’s an excellent hacker. Not that hacking is her favorite word per se, but it’s not what it looks like in the movies – greasy-haired boys with equally greasy faces illuminated by LCD screens, Cheeto-covered fingers and Code Red–stained mouths, mumbling to themselves about nuclear warheads and whether Black Canary could take Green Arrow in hand-to-hand combat. Her money was on Black Canary, but that’s beside the point. 

Felicity Smoak prefers to hack in a well-lit coffee shop with an endless supply of triple shot caramel  _ of course I want whip, what kind of place are you running here? _ lattes, a carefully crafted mix of Massive Attack and The Bird and The Bee playing steadily through her headphones, and the finely honed ability to blend into the background she’s been perfecting since childhood. And yes, hacking may be just this side of illegal, but other than the one extremely unfortunate incident in college involving Homeland Security and a now intimate knowledge of the Patriot Act, Felicity is a hacker for good.

A hacktivist, of sorts. 

Which is why she’s standing outside a Toys-R-Us on a particularly chilly Thanksgiving night, waiting for the doors to open and anticipated chaos ensue. Well, that and she has a plan she intends to follow through on. 

Felicity’s hopping from one foot to another, rubbing her mittened hands together for warmth when she knocks into the man in front of her. Accident prone might be third on the list of things Felicity is excellent at being, although more a source of embarrassment than pride. Such as now, when the man turns toward her and  _ oh, wow. _ She’s not sure she’s seen anyone that pretty up close. Or maybe she should say beautiful. Pretty doesn’t quite cover all of  _ that _ . And  _ woah doggie _ is it a lot of pretty. 

The man’s confused puppy face clues her in that her other not-so-favorite attribute, uninhibited and generally not suitable for work babbling, has commenced. She’s 99% sure her inner soliloquy became monologue, and if the earth were to open and swallow her whole, well that would be just fine.

“I…uh…”

He’s facing her fully now, smile reaching from his eyes to the tips of her toes. If she’s staring again, it can’t be helped. The way his lips wrap around his teeth, so perfect and uniform, is likely criminal. He must have had braces at some point because a smile like his doesn’t just happen. Although, she’s fairly certain if anyone could pull off orthodontia, it would be this man. 

“What are you waiting for?”

“Umm…what?” Feeling her jaw lax open, Felicity closes her mouth with a pop. What did he just ask her?

“I’m assuming you’re here for something specific, right? Aren’t we all? I was just curious what toy you were here to buy?” His voice is nice. Soft in all the right sounds and kind in the best, not at all phony way. 

“Oh, right. Umm, I have a list actually.” Unfolding the spreadsheet, she holds it up for his view. Damn, the confused puppy face is working for him.

“You’re buying all of this?” 

Buying is a subjective word, not that she plans to explain this to the Handsome Puppy Faced Man. She’s buying, technically. So, maybe she is using funds rerouted from corrupt corporations and businessmen across Starling to purchase every toy on the Starling General Hospital Children’s Cancer Center wish list. It’s basically just regifting. Everyone does it. It’s totally fine. Normal, even. Her great-aunt Helene gave her a Bath & Body Works gift card for Hanukah last year, which she tossed in for Secret Snowflake at her office holiday party. This is no different. She wasn’t going to use the gift card, in the same way those corporate goons weren’t going to use their money – for anything good, at least. 

“Uh, yeah. Yes. I like to buy presents. I’m a giver.”

Holding up a finger as she pinches her lips together, she stops him from replying.

“I didn’t mean it like _ that _ kind of giving. Not that I don’t like to give, necessarily. I try to be a very attentive in – “ Both her hands fly out in front of her, waving frantically as her brain finally catches up to her mouth. “I’m just going to stop talking altogether in 3, 2…1.” 

Ok, if she thought Handsome Puppy Faced Man had the best voice she’s ever heard, it’s nothing compared to his laugh. Entire face lit, stomach grabbing, tears in the corners of his eyes laughing. She’d be offended if that damn laugh wasn’t so infectious. 

“I’m sorry,” he says between gulped breaths. “I really needed that laugh.” 

Maybe it’s not appropriate to touch strangers, but when Handsome Puppy Faced Man places his large hand on her shoulder any sense of propriety she has waves to her from a distance. 

“So what are you here for?” He’s still holding her shoulder, and is his thumb _ rubbing  _ the furry collar on her coat?

“Little Live Pets Snuggles My Dream Puppy playset.” Now it’s Felicity’s turn for a confused face as he prattles off the name of one of the hottest toys of 2016, which also happens to be on her list. 

Removing his hand from her shoulder – which now feels strangely colder and  _ without _ – he pulls his phone from his pocket.

“This is my goddaughter, Sara.” There’s a tiny face staring at her from the screen, beatific smile and bright eyes. “Best kid in the world,” he says as though it’s fact. 

“She has you around her finger, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, for sure.” Sliding the phone back in his pocket, he laughs lightly. “The only other person who rivals her in getting me to do exactly what she wants is my sister, Thea. She has 20 years experience on Sara and I still think that nugget has her beat.”

Felicity blinks several times in succession, thinking her mind is playing tricks on her. Too much caffeine and exposure to LED light sources has her imagination running wild. This man is too good to be true. Handsome in that casually beautiful way. Cares enough for his goddaughter to brave a toy store on Black Friday. Close to his family, if his unabashed love for his sister is any indication. Oh, and did she mention his hands? Because, _ yes _ . 

Before she has a chance to respond, there’s commotion in the crowd. 

“The doors are opening!” comes a frantic voice from the front.

Felicity and Handsome Puppy Faced Man both turn in sync to look toward the doors, then at one another.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“Probably not,” she laughs.

As the line starts to move, Felicity and Handsome Puppy Faced Man are shoved forward. She’s pressed to his back as the crowd begins to crush in together. He reaches for her mitten, wraps his leather-gloved fingers around hers, smiling. 

She can’t help but smile back. 

“I never got your name,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Felicity. Felicity Smoak.”

“Felicity Smoak.” She was wrong. The best thing about his voice is how he says her name.

“Hi,” he squeezes her hand tightly. “I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

ii.

“This is my last year, I swear to Google.” She’s leaning on a sign that reads: DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED. Her hat askew and her tights have a run starting from her ankle and leading under the shorts of her jumper. The last time she ate was before leaving the house this morning, unless the two broken candy canes she inhaled an hour ago count. 

“You say that every year, Felicity.” Barry is her best friend, has been since she moved in across the street when they were both 8 years old. The transition from Las Vegas to Central City would have been brutal if not for Barry Allen. However close their friendship, it doesn’t make up for the traitorous garbage coming out of his mouth currently.

“Face it, Felicity. You love working here. Why else would you sign up for elf duty for the, what is it? Fifth year in a row? And while you’re on break from MIT no less?” 

“That is absolute codswallop and you know it.” She clutches a hand to her chest in offense, employing her horrible excuse for a British accent to add effect. 

“Do I? What other reason would you have for coming back?”

“The mo-“

“And don’t tell me the money is good. I hear that every year but you and I both know you make far more fixing laptops for clueless co-eds who think the cd-rom is a cup holder.” This argument would be better received if he weren’t pointing a sparkly gloved finger at her.

“You know he’s right, Felicity.” John Diggle, retired Special Forces and professional ball buster. Starling Regional Shopping Center has the most popular Santa Claus in the tri-state area. He’s an indiscriminately attractive man, who just happens to have a jolly soul and enjoys making children happy. 

“Fine, fine,” she coalesces. “Maybe it’s you two goons and the smiling kids who bring me back each year.” In truth, Felicity first accepted the position because the pay is rather good considering the abysmal hourly rate her friends were making in their retail jobs. She had big dreams and scholarships only covered so much. Her mom barely made enough for their household bills. Now though, she really does like being a holiday elf three weeks out of every year. It’s grown on her.  

“Well, we know it’s not for the holiday cheer.” Some days, Barry Allen is more trouble than he’s worth.

“I have plenty of holiday cheer, Barry. Christmas just isn’t  _ my _ holiday – as in, I’m Jewish.” She levels him with a look, and he stumbles over an apology before she can start her lecture on Christian propaganda and the anti-Semitic subtext of traditional Christmas celebrations. 

“Incoming, troops. Man your stations,” Digg barks as he heads toward his seat. The line technically closed 20 minutes ago, but their fault for not rolling up the carpet and heading to the lockers to change. 

There’s a bright-eyed sprite of a girl who can’t be more than 10 tugging the hand of her grumpy companion as the two make their way toward the display.

Barry heads out first to greet them, doling out his joyful spiel with a flourish of those glittery gloved hands. The girl’s face lights, and she turns to the man next to her with the kind of glee that makes Felicity’s job worth it. The man must agree with her, as his answering soft smile has Felicity’s stomach aflutter. 

She hears the man say to Barry, “thanks dude. I know you guys are probably closing up, but we’re in Central City for a business trip with our parents. She was so worried Santa wouldn’t know how to find her here since our tree is back in Starling. I promised her we’d find a way to tell him.” 

Felicity might have melted into a holiday elf shaped puddle. 

When the young girl reaches Felicity, she bends down to start her portion of the act. 

“Hey there. My name is Happiness Von Merriment. What’s yours?” 

With one eyebrow cocked high, she crosses her arms. “Thea,” her voice is more confident than Felicity expects. “What kind of elf are you exactly?” She waves a finger from Felicity’s head to toe, taking in the blue, silver, and gold glitter with inquisitive eyes.

Thankfully, this isn’t her first skeptic. 

“I’m a holiday elf. Around here, we try to be inclusive of every person who wants to celebrate the spirit of giving and joy.” Felicity reaches out her hand and waves it quickly behind Thea’s ear, then hands the girl a chocolate coin. 

Thea bites her lip and takes the coin from Felicity. “I like you,” she says before turning to the man with her. “Ollie, this is Happiness. I like her.”

Turning back to Felicity, she pulls on her shirt to have her bend down. Felicity obliges, and Thea whispers in her ear. “That’s my brother Ollie. He’s a doofus, but he promised I could see Santa and when he makes a promise, he never  _ ever _ breaks it.” 

“Sounds like a pretty great brother,” Felicity can’t help smiling at Thea. The kid is a real charmer.

“Eh,” she flips her hand in the air, “he’s ok.” The two are laughing together when the brother in question saunters over. 

“Should I ask what you’ve conned  _ -eh, _ Happiness into?” 

“Probably not,” Thea retorts. “Can I talk to Santa now? I’ve got very important business to discuss.” 

“Go on up, he’s waiting for you.” Felicity gives Thea a wave as Ollie stands next to her, watching Thea with a pleased smile.

“She loves you a lot,” Felicity remarks. “I can tell.”

Ollie shrugs lightly, “I love her too, so much.” His voice is quiet, and this shy little boy look of his is really working for Felicity.

“Why don’t you go up there with her and we’ll take a picture of all of you together?” She waves an ancient digital camera at him. “Free of charge.”

“Yeah? Thanks, Happiness. You’re pretty great.” She adds winking to the growing mental list of things she finds ridiculously attractive about this guy. 

“I am pretty great,” she bumps him with her shoulder, making him laugh loudly. “And Happiness is a stage name of sorts. It’s Felicity, actually. Felicity Smoak.” 

He takes her outstretched hand, with a firm yet gentle grip. “Felicity Smoak,” he says. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

iii.

Every year in December for as long as anyone can remember, there’s been a tradition in Starling City to celebrate the holiday season. The Merry Maple. 

The marching band from Starling University leads a parade of hot chocolate and toddy toting revelers through the streets to the town square, where a massive pine tree is lit to  _ oohs _ and  _ aahs _ from the crowd. Traditionally, the mayor makes a speech to commemorate the celebration. Words full of hope and renewal, reminders of the goodness within their city. The Merry Maple is as beloved a tradition as Santa Claus himself.

For Felicity Smoak, new resident of Starling City by way of Las Vegas, The Merry Maple is her small town dream come to life. She’s seen the advertisement in the Starling City gazette, front page news next to a winter poem she could swear is thinly veiled anti-fascist rhetoric. The event offered all her favorite things: marching bands, light displays, and the promise of the Queens’ favorite hot chocolate. It was her co-worker who pointed out Queen referred to the Queen family, Starling City’s version of royalty and not the actual Queen, as in  _ of England _ . She was new in town, ok? So sue her for not knowing the current mayor was the latest in a legacy spanning 8 generations of mayoral seating.

She’s in line for a cup of that famous hot chocolate when a man taps her shoulder gently. Her gaze lands squarely on the knot of his tie peeking out from under his overcoat. Craning her neck upward, she’s face to face with the tapper in question.

And oh, what a face. 

“You dropped your mitten.” There’s something vaguely familiar about him, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Oh, wow. Thanks! These are my favorite pair. They turn your hands into little cats. See?” It’s not until she’s thrusting her mitten clad hand into this stranger’s face that she realize her actions. But before she can pull her hand back, he’s reaching out to pet the top of her hand,  _ errm…mitten cat _ ?

“My sister would love these. Where’d you find them?” His sincerity takes her aback, but only for a moment. 

“There’s a shop on North Elm. The woman there handmakes most of the knitting works, and she sells other people’s crafts and projects. There’s an entire section on woodworking, if you’re into that sort of thing.” 

“I’m not, but that’s good information.” 

“Wandering Moon.” 

“Sorry?” 

“It’s the name of the shop. Next to McCusker’s Grocery.” 

“Oh, right. Thank you.” It’s not until they’re walking away from the stand, hot chocolates in hand does she realize he’s ordered and paid for both drinks. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” she tips her drink toward him.

“Not a problem.” If she glances at him over her cup as she sips her drink, who could blame her? It’s been a long time since she’s shared a warm beverage with an attractive man while waiting for a marching band to play. Ok, so she’s never done any of that in combination but no time like the present. 

“Is this your first Merry Maple?” 

“Not by a long shot,” he replies. “My family come every year. The Merry Maple is a tradition for most the town.” 

Felicity is nodding along when he asks, “is this your first?”

“Yep. I moved to Starling a few months ago. Came for the booming tech industry, stayed for the holiday cheer.” He raises an eyebrow and she concedes, “ok, not exactly. I did come for a job in tech and the promise of a growing marketplace. The holiday cheer is an added bonus, particularly because I’m Jewish. I heard the mayor-elect wanted to be more inclusive this year and made sure more than just Christian religions were represented in the merriment.” 

She elbows him in side, “get it. Merry-ment. Merry Maple?” 

His head shake is acknowledgement enough, but it’s the  _ bada-bing _ and fake snare tap that really does her in. 

“Sounds like he’s a good guy, that mayor-elect.”

“It kind of does, huh? Wouldn’t know for sure of course. Never met him. But he seems to care a lot about this city, and that really says something. You know?”

“I do, know.” Normally, a man smirking at her is more turn-off than turn-on, but there’s something about  _ this man _ and  _ this smirk _ that’s warming her insides more than her drink could. 

The sound of the band in the distance is what finally catches their attention. Felicity isn’t sure how they made it to the start of the parade line, but they walk together out onto Main Street as the drum major comes into view.

“My sister plays the tuba,” he’s beaming with pride when he turns to her. “She’s a freshman at Starling U this year. I didn’t think she could be more excited for The Merry Maple. Turns out, I was wrong. There’s apparently  _ nothing that compares to marching in the parade _ ,” he says with air quotes. 

“She sounds awesome, your sister. My kind of girl. I’m a bit of a marching band groupie.” 

“That she is,” his smile softens then, and maybe it’s the lights or the Queens’ favorite hot chocolate and the orchestral sounds in the distance, but she could swear the look he’s giving her right now could only be described as gazing. “I think she’d really like you.” 

The air around them seems to still, and instead of growing louder as the band approaches, she’s struck by how quiet and intimate this moment feels.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he shifts forward a half step, directly into her orbit.

“Can’t catch what isn’t thrown,” and now it’s her turn to smirk. “Felicity Smoak.”

“Felicity Smoak,” he repeats in a reverent, hopeful tone. “Hi, I’m Oliver Queen. Mayor-elect of Starling City.” 

 

iv.

As far as office Christmas parties go, this one is shaping up to be a hall of famer. The Queens had gone all out on decorations and food, and had even lifted the alcohol ban for the evening. Most people, of course, have the good sense to limit themselves to a round or two because nothing says holiday-induced nightmare like being wasted in front of your boss. But most people aren’t Felicity Smoak.

In her defense, she hasn’t eaten at all today. 

Except for half a tray of coconut shrimp and some super fancy version of pigs in a blanket, but to be fair that was after she was two in and feeling  _ good _ .

Later, after her officemates have called her an Uber and she’s made it safely home to the comfort of her bed, she’ll wonder where the tinsel hair topper came from and how the tights she’d been wearing had gone missing.

The next morning, hungover won’t be word enough to describe her state of affairs. She’s slept in her makeup, not removed any of the pins from her hair, nor even bothered to change out of her dress.

After a shower and a date with the porcelain god, she’ll text her best friend, Barry Allen, who abandoned her for Central City last year; he was, therefore, not witness to the Holiday Office Party of Epic and Terrible Proportions.

F: There was this drink    
F: Mintin’ It Up or something like that I’m not even sure   
B: well, look at that name Felicity. Your first mistake was drinking anything with a name like that.   
F: That’s obvious now, Barry. It wasn’t then. And delicious, ok???    
B: ok   
F: No, not ok Barry! Definitely 100000000x not OK!!!!!   
B: um   
F: Did you know that I know A L L  the words to All By Myself?   
B: Was it time for Celine?   
F: It was.   
B: ohhhhh no   
F: Oh, yes   
B: Felicity.   
F: I know, Barry. I know.    
B: it’s just…never good when it’s time for Celine, Felicity. You remember your birthday party two years ago?   
F: vaguely   
B: I think I’ve made my point.   
F: ANYWAY   
F: There was the drink…and then Celine…and a tinsel head topper   
B: tinsel?    
F: Yeah, unclear on that one tbh   
B: go on   
F: So I was maybe MAYBE standing on my desk belting out the chorus when I spotted him   
B: NO   
F: YES   
B: FELICITY   
F: I KNOW   
B: I’m afraid to ask   
F: I might have sang …at him? For the rest of the song? And the next? Or two? I don’t know Barry! Things are fuzzy and minty………….   
B: Felicity   
F: I know   
B: He’s your boss.   
F: Yes.   
B: You’re in love with him.   
F: Possibly.   
B: You’ve never actually met him.   
F: Well, I think he’s got a good idea of who I am now   
B: Yikes   
F: Yeah tell me about it   
F: Someone’s at the door? It’s 10 am on a Saturday. Should I answer it?   
B: Why wouldn’t you?   
F: I don’t know??????   
B: answer the door Felicity don’t be a shut in   
F: I’m not being a shut in. You haven’t seen me today – trust me, no one should   
F: the knocking stopped   
B: because you took too long??   
B: Felicity?   
B: hellloooooooooo   
B: omg Felicity answer   
B: was it a serial killer at the door? Because I can be there in a flash. Well, I mean, a train ride and then probably a cab but I’ll be right there!!!!   
F: Barry   
B: Felicity?   
B: Or serial killer?   
F: You’re never going to believe what was at the door……..   
B: Prove you’re Felicity   
F: You’re in love with Iris West and you have yet to tell her because she’s also your childhood best friend and you don’t want to mess up a good thing, but I tell you literally every day that you’re the Dumbest Man Alive and to just TELL HER NOW    
B: oh hey Felicity glad you’re ok   
F: DOOR BARRY   
B: right, so ….????   
F: Muffins   
B: what   
F: Muffins. And special fancy coffee.    
B: why   
F: I seem to have made…an impression   
B: on the delivery guy?   
F: No, Barry, although he did back away pretty quickly once I answered…   
F:  but no   
F: I think I might have fallen into another dimension   
B: Not possible. You can’t just “fall” into dimensions. You’d need a catalyst like supersonic speed. Theoretically speaking   
F: Barry, focus   
B: Right, muffins. From who?   
F: Oliver Queen   
B: WHAT   
B: OMG   
B: WHAT   
B: STOP   
B: OMG MAYBE YOU DID FALL INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION   
F: physically impossible, remember?   
B: I might need to amend my theory   
F: BARRY. OLIVER QUEEN SENT ME MUFFINS. AND FANCY COFFEE AND A NOTE   
B: ……………………………………………………?   
F: I think it’s in his handwriting Barry like he went to the shop himself to have this delivered   
F: Not that I would know what his handwriting looks like necessarily   
B: except you do   
F: of course I do   
B: and????   
F: that’s a the note...   
F: Barry   
F: BARRY   
B: sorry I just died and was brought back to life by OLIVER FRACKING QUEEN WRITING YOU A NOTE WITH A HANDWRITTEN WINKY FACE   
B: and what was that line about you and Celine???? Because honestly Felicity that was slick.   
F: what do I do now????? How do I face him at the office? What do I say? Do I thank him for the muffins and coffee? Do I crack a Celine joke??? BARRY HELP   
B: it’s fine   
B: today is Saturday. We have the whole weekend to figure it out. I’ll text Iris and we’ll skype you later.    
B: I’m copying that photo and sending it to Iris right now so she’s up to speed.   
F: ok…….   
B: Enjoy those muffins…   
F: HA HA

On Monday morning, Felicity Smoak finds herself running through the lobby of Queen Consolidated barely sliding in before the elevator doors close. In her rush, she won’t notice the elevator’s other occupants are her muffin-sending hero and his smirking bodyguard. That is, until...

“Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

v.

Oliver Queen finds himself in the back of a limo parked on the Vegas strip, sipping a scotch neat while he waits for the rest of the bachelor party he’s with to make their return. Tommy Merlyn is marrying Laurel Lance on Christmas Eve, exactly 10 days from now; and as the best man, it’s his duty to throw the last hurrah. With all that’s happened in the past few weeks, Oliver had thought a Vegas weekend would be just what he and Tommy both needed. For his part, Tommy was having the time of his life. Oliver, however, was not. 

Trying to clear his thoughts, he rolled down the back window and closed his eyes, breathing deep. When he opened them again, he was staring at a synagogue across the street that appeared to have just let out for services. Arm in arm as they move down the stairs are two striking blonde women. One, slightly older, with a tight skirt Oliver doesn’t have to be Jewish to know is likely inappropriate considering. The other, well, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He only feels slightly creepy for watching her from a distance, but he doesn’t think running across traffic to approach a woman -  who even from here he knows has been crying -  just as she’s leaving a religious service. 

Her hands are animated, gesticulating widely as she talks. The woman next to her only nods, holding her arm tighter. As they disappear from his view and the raucous sound of his friends returning from their quest fill his ears, he can’t quite understand this feeling of longing hitting him in the chest. 

When the dares have been completed and mission considered a success, the party piles noisily into a forgotten diner on the strip. They take up several booths, clambering for menus and jovially harassing one another as the waitress attempts to take their order. Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver catches a glimpse of blonde. When he turns to the corner booth, he’s shocked to see his mystery girl slumped into her seat, tablet out in front of her and tabletop littered with tissues. 

The want, no  _ need _ ,  to approach her is palpable, but Oliver isn’t a jerk or one to take advantage. Instead, he asks the waitress behind the counter about his mystery girl. 

 

A plate of pie is placed on the table before her, and she turns to tell Charlene her thanks when her words falter. Unless Charlene shape shifted into the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, Felicity is sure this pie isn’t for her. 

“Hi,” he says to her. “I’m Oliver. Do you mind if I join you?”

Bewildered but also intrigued, she acquiesces by motioning for the booth seat across from her. Just as he’s sitting, she scrambles to grab her napkin tissues and ball them together to clear the table space.

“Felicity. Nice to meet you. Although, why exactly am I? Meeting you, that is? And –“ she gestures in front of her, “the pie?” 

Taking a deep breath, he says, “I saw you this morning.”

Not letting the furrow of her brow stop him, he continues “you were with another woman coming out of a synagogue. The limo I was in was parked across the street from it. We were waiting on Tommy to get his picture taken with the Elvis impersonator who works at the Hunka Hunka Burning Love Chapel.”

Felicity tilts her head to the side, “the who in the what now?”

“Tommy is my best friend, who’s getting married. His fiancé, Laurel, thought it might be fun to set up a scavenger hunt for everyone. Between Laurel, her sister Sara, and myself we were able to come up with a list of 10 moderately inappropriate but not TMZ-worthy dares for him to complete. But that’s not my point.”

“What is your point?”

Reaching across the table, he taps a finger on the back of one knuckle. “My point is that this morning the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen was walking out of a synagogue crying. If the circumstances were different, I would have approached her.”

Felicity turns her hand over, palm up. Oliver traces shapes onto her skin, his touch soft and electric.

“Then, several hours pass and I wind up in this diner,” he looks around then back to Felicity. “And luck must be on my side because in a booth in the corner sits the same woman from this morning. Again, I wanted to approach her but she still looked so sad.”

Oliver clasps Felicity’s hand in his, fingers intertwining. 

“So I went to the counter and asked the waitress if she knew the beautiful woman in the corner booth.” Felicity nods slightly, biting her lip.

“Turns out, I’m lucky again. I ask her what kind of pie the woman likes, and then order a large slice.”

“Apple,” she interrupts.

“Apple,” he repeats. 

“Then what happened?” 

“I ask her if she’s okay, tell her I notice she’s been crying.” Felicity looks away for a moment, then locks her gaze with his.

“My father left on the first night of Hannukah 10 years ago. My mother and I haven’t celebrated since, and I’ve avoided coming home from school and avoided  _ her _ for too long now. This is the first holiday I’ve been back in 3 years, and I don’t know. We just got up this morning and decided to go.” He rubs his thumb in soothing circles over hers. 

“He’s never tried to contact me,  _ us _ . 10 years of radio silence, which is rich coming from a man who made his living in tech.” There are fresh tears in her eyes, which she bats away forcefully with her opposite hand. “It’s stupid, I guess. I don’t know why I’m still upset about this when it’s been so long. But, here I am crying in a diner on the strip with a man I just met 10 minutes ago who may or may not have been low key stalking me this morning.” 

Oliver snorts, releases her hand only to push the pie plate closer. “Eat.” 

Picking up the fork, she savors the first few bites then asks, “so what’s your story Oliver? You can’t let me throw this self-indulgent pity party alone.” 

“Two weeks ago, my father’s former intern whom he’d apparently been sleeping with for months, revealed to my mother –  _ his wife _ – and half the office staff at our family’s corporation that my sister is not my father’s daughter. Apparently, my father had known all along but he loves my sister so he never thought it necessary to share this secret. And my mother, she had no idea my father knew let alone the fact he had a mistress conniving enough to dig up this secret.” 

Felicity’s mouth drops open, but Oliver continues before she has a chance to say anything. 

“It gets worse,” he nods. “I know. You’re thinking  _ but how could it get worse Oliver? That’s pretty awful _ ,” he says in a slightly higher pitched voice apparently meant to mimic her. “Well, Felicity. The way it gets worse is the affair my mother had? The biological father of my sister? He also happens to be the father of my best friend, you know, the guy who’s bachelor party we’re here for. The same guy who’s marrying my former girlfriend that for years professed I was the love of her life.” 

Her face would be comical if he hadn’t just spilled his guts all over the diner’s table. Thankfully, she recovers quickly and pushes the pie toward him. “I think you might need this more than I do.” 

He’s not sure how she gets him to laugh in that moment, but it’s exactly what he needs. Her pleased smile is worth this verbal diarrhea. 

“I have an idea,” she says, holding up a finger. “For the rest of our time here together, until the pie plate is clean and the coffee is cold – “ 

“The waitress brings refills around for free, Felicity. The coffee won’t get cold.”

“Don’t interrupt a woman when she’s making a grand gesture, Oliver. It’s impolite.”

“Noted.”

“As I was saying, I think we should put a moratorium for the rest of the evening on pity parties and self-indulgence. Instead, let’s just talk. Like two people who happened to meet at 2am in a Vegas diner and share a love of pie.”

“We might need more pie,” he says gravely.

“Noted.” 

So they talk. Almost two hours passes in a blur of smiles and nods, laughter and heartfelt acknowledgements. 

Oliver doesn’t see Tommy approach, but Felicity turns her gaze to behind his shoulder.

“Buddy, we’re heading back to the hotel. Gonna try and get a few hours shut eye before the flight.” He claps a hand down on Oliver’s shoulder, and nods toward Felicity who’s trying to conceal her disappointment with a tight smile.

For his part, Oliver isn’t much better. If she thought he had sad puppy eyes before, it was nothing compared to now.

Tommy gives them privacy to say good-bye, calling over his shoulder “I love Las Vegas!” He hands a hundred dollar bill to Charlene behind the counter, and smacks a kiss to her cheek. 

The two watch his exit, Felicity’s mouth open wide while Oliver is simply shaking his head in combined amusement and embarrassment. 

Not knowing how to handle what has to come next, he scribbles his number on the back of the check, passes it to her across the table. She holds his gaze, her fingertips brushing his as she takes the paper from him.

“We’re here today until noon, and then we head back to Starling City. If you – I don’t know – ever find your way out there, give me a call?” Oliver knows she won’t. It’s written all over her face. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. 

“Thank you for the pie, Oliver.” The smile she sends his way feels warmer than sunshine. 

“You’re welcome, Felicity.” Walking away from her feels wrong, and he yanks at the tie around his neck, pops a few of the buttons on his shirt. It’s not until he’s outside the diner and taking several breaths of fresh air that he’s able to tamp down the feeling he’s making a mistake. 

 

Five years later, Oliver is touring Queen Consolidated flanked by his mother and Walter Steele. He’s poised to take the CEO position previously held by his father. Robert Queen’s death the year before was unexpected. While their marriage had been rocky after the reveal of Thea’s parentage and Robert’s affair with Isabela Rochev, he and Moira had managed to stay together until he died. Oliver and his father had been slowly working to repair their relationship. The two had weekly golf times, and on a crisp spring morning they had teed off less than a half hour before his father had a heart attack. He died in the ambulance on the way to Starling General, holding Oliver’s hand. 

Oliver tries to push the memory of that day aside as he walks with the QC halls. He’s vaguely listening to Walter rattle off facts about the company’s improvements over the past several years, most specifically in the areas of R&D and Information Technology. 

“These are offices for our IT department. Many fine young minds were recruited by your father, Oliver. Maybe the best example is in the office to your left. Felicity Smoak. She’s working on several exciting projects currently, and I have every confidence she’ll get the greenlight for each one. You never bet against a woman from Vegas, you know.”

Oliver stops in his tracks, eyes widening as he looks between the door and Walter.

“I’m sorry, Walter. Did you say Felicity from Vegas?” It’s not possible. It couldn’t be the same Felicity he’d had the most intimate conversation of his life with in a shifty diner on the strip. Could it? What were the odds  _ his _ Felicity would end up at QC? Actually, if he remembers correctly she’d been in her last year at MIT. Cybersecurity and computer sciences, wasn’t it? 

Could it really be her?

“Can you excuse me a moment?” He’s turning toward the office door before his mother has a chance to call for him. She and Walter exchange quizzical looks at his back. 

His heart is pounding in his chest enough for him to hear beating in his ears. When he opens the door, he gasps softly. There behind the desk is a familiar blonde ponytail and glasses, perfectly painted lips and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. 

She turns when she hears the door shut, dropping the pen from her hand as she stares. Recognition flashes through her eyes, and the hint of a smile breaks through her confused expression.

“Felicity Smoak? Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.” 

 

_ In a not so distant future… _

i.

“Looks like Iron Heights has half a dozen new residents. SCPD just picked up Lacroix and his goons. Perimeter scans are clear.” Felicity Smoak spins in her chair with a triumphant fist pump. “Spartan. Green Arrow. Come home.” 

“Roger that, Overwatch,” comes a gruff voice. Her favorite voice. “We’re on our way now.” 

Less than 30 minutes later, two of Star City’s vigilante heroes step off the elevator.

“Felicity Smoak,” calls the Green Arrow as he pulls down his mask, quickly making his way up the platform to her desk.

“Oliver Queen,” she replies with a wide smile.

Bracing his hands on either armrest of her chair, he leans down to press his lips to hers in a slow, soft kiss. “Happy New Year,” he whispers against her lips with a smile of his own.

The span of several seconds passes before she’s pushing away from him with a startled yelp. “It’s New Year’s already! When did that happen?” 

“About 6 minutes ago,” John Diggle’s voices breaks through her confusion. He’s stripped his jacket and helmet, and stands to join them near her desk. 

“No one move,” she calls before running from the platform and out of sight.

The two men look to each other in bewilderment, Oliver’s eyebrows raised as Digg shakes his head.

When she emerges back into view, Felicity’s holding a small stack of red Solo cups and a bottle of champagne. “I think we deserve a little celebration.” 

“That we do,” Digg agrees. 

Felicity passes the cups around, handing the bottle to Oliver for him to pop the cork. “I think you should do the honors, Mr. Mayor. It’s been a hell of a year.”

Oliver smiles, warm and genuine, taking the bottle with a wink. “That it has.” 

Popping the cork easily to Felicity’s excited clapping, he gives a good pour into each cup. He shouldn’t be surprised she made sure there was champagne to celebrate with, but he can’t help the quick kiss he presses to her temple in gratitude. 

“Shall we toast?” she asks, as he sets the bottle on her desk. 

Digg steps forward first, glass raised. “To family.”

He passes to Felicity with a nod. “To Original Team Arrow, the OG’s. Often imitated, never duplicated.” Oliver and Digg both laugh in unison but agree nonetheless.

“To Star City, and the people worth protecting.” They knock their cups together at the rims, before each taking a healthy swig. 

Felicity throws her arms around Digg first, minding her spillage; and he hugs her back just as tightly. When the two part, Oliver moves to hug Digg as well. There are manly back claps and laughter, mostly from Felicity as she watches her boys embrace. 

There was a time, not so long ago, when she feared there wouldn’t be another night like this. When mirakuru soldiers and mystic mayhem, supersonic speedsters and ghost hordes, lies and half-truths threatened to take from her everything she holds dear. 

And yet, they’re still here. They’re not done fighting. 

As Oliver wraps her in his arms, whispering his love for her and wild plans for their future in her ear, she can only smile. For the first time in a long time, a sense of calm washes over her. A feeling she had once thought lost hits her square in the chest. 

_ Hope _ , she remembers as tears brim her eyes. 

“Happy New Year, Oliver.” 


End file.
